UnProvoked Actions
by Pappii
Summary: The dreams weren't the problem. It was the person he was dreaming about. - 8059, swearing, as 'Dera is prone to do. Wet dreams and masterbation


This was the last person he expected to see waiting for him at his front door, armed with a small bag, when he returned from his daily jog.

"G-Gokudera!" Yamamoto said with incertainty, stopping at the gate of his house and looking down the pathway to where the other boy sat on the small bench tucked off to the side. "What are you doing here?"

The Italian looked up at his classmate with slight confusion, blinking once before growling and looking away - apparently having been lost in thought before his fellow Guardian had arrived - and mumbled to himself, growling light as he lifted his head to see the Japanese boy slipping his key into the lock of the front door whilst still giving him that stupid - and slightly confused - grin of his.

"Tenth asked me to come and stay here, since his house is so full," He finally managed to say after realizing that the baseball idiot was too deaf to hear his initial mumbling.

Yamamoto nodded slowly then grinned, pushing open the door and slipping his shoes off before indicating for his friend to enter. Gokudera did so reluctantly, slipping his shoes off as the other boy shut the door quietly, flicking the lock with a soft 'click'. As the other Guardian let his gaze float around himself, examining the unfamiliar surroundings, the baseball player shrugged off his coat, ignoring the small amounts of snow shaking onto the floor beneath his feet, and hung it with the other coats.

A quick glance at the silver-haired boy was all it took to figure out that he was confused or surprised, or maybe even both. In truth, the bomber couldn't understand how Yamamoto's dad could run such a successful business, and yet only have a small, one-storey house with nothing more than a medium-sized lounge, a small bathroom/toilet, two small bedrooms and no kitchen at all, but soon put it down to the lack of space on the lot the house and restaraunt were built on. When he finally focused on where he was, Gokudera realized that the other Guardian had disappeared, though he soon tracked him down, stepping into the emaculately tidy and surprisingly bare bedroom of the baseball player. It was nothing special, housing just a single bed, a small desk and a wardrobe, and the only decoration on the walls was a single poster of some baseball player or other.

While Yamamoto pulled a spare futon from the wardrobe and set up a bed for him, Gokudera sat on his friend's bed, watching in silence. He was only here because he had no where else to go. His apartment block had had to be evacuated for legal reasons - something about a murder and a methamphetamine lab in one of the lower buildings - and the one place he had _wanted_ to go was full. Hotels really weren't his thing - mostly due to monetary reasons - so he had turned to his beloved Tenth's other close friend for help, which, as per normal, the swordsman was all to happy to supply.

"So you'll be staying with us for Christmas, then?" Gokudera looked up to the grinning boy who was standing by the now made futon, pulling on a pair of thick pants and a long-sleeved shirt, and gave an unsure shrug. He had been too annoyed that he was going to have to find somewhere else to stay to even _think_ about worrying about the public - and religious - holiday taking place in just two days. Yamamoto gave a laugh, digging through his wardrobe and pulling on a jacket, zipping it up. "Don't sweat it. Dad'll be fine. It's usually just me and him anyway, so he'll love having another person around."

The rest of the afternoon and evening found them spending a lot of time in the lounge, playing video games - something that Yamamoto seemed to best Gokudera in. In all honesty, the bomber was rather surprised to see the large cabinet beside the widescreen plasma, packed full of games. They weren't just sports games either. It seemed that this baseball idiot loved gaming and owned almost every game there was to own for the playstation he owned, including the _entire_ Tekken series - including _Bloodline Rebellion_ which hadn't even been _released_ yet.

When they finally made it to bed, after stealing some snacks from the restaraunt kitchen next door, Gokudera fell to sleep in an instant, worn out and tired from losing in almost every two-player game he had versed his classmate in - he hadn't expected that baseball idiot to be so damn good at gaming - though Yamamoto found he couldn't. Instead, the dark-haired boy sat cross-legged on his bed, head lying on his forearms as he rest them on the windowsill above his bed, watching the snow fall on the other side of the glass. He found it peaceful, watching the snow fall, much like he found listening to the soft patter of summer rain on the buildings peaceful, and usually spent the time just thinking. Thinking about his life, and everything that had happened since he had befriended Tsuna a few years ago.

He would have been doing the same tonight as well, if it weren't for something other than his own, quiet heartbeat and breathing breaking the silence.

He lifted his head slightly, looking backwards over his shoulder to his friend on the floor. He gave a small frown as the strong moonlight peeked through the clouds, landing on the bomber's face, reflecting off the sweat that had gathered on his seemingly calm face. The boy's breath was heavy - sounded slightly pained for a moment before Yamamoto figured it to just be a shortness of breath - and he gave small moans every now and then. The dark-haired boy considered waking his friend, least it be a bad dream, but figured the consequences would be too painful for it to be worth it as he realized it was anything _but_ a bad dream.

Instead, he just crawled under his blankets and lay down, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds of his friends disturbed sleep. It made the baseball player glad that his father was such a deep sleeper because as the moaning of his friend heightened in volume, becoming more and more definitive, he found himself echoing them softly, a hand slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers as he stroked himself. Between the sounds of the Italian and the images of a submissive Gokudera writhing beneath him on the back of his eyelids - not that he had ever _seen_ Gokudera naked, nor knew what to do when it came to sex with anyone, let alone a _guy _- he soon found himself giving a hitched moan as he came in his hand, shuddering in time with the loud moan that escaped the mouth of his friend - he'd liked to believe that the name he heard drowned in that moan was his own, but this was Gokudera for god's sake and Gokudera wasn't the kind of guy to have _any_ sort of dream about the baseball player, unless it involved beating him up in one way or another - before the house fell silent again.

He lay there for a few minutes, panting softly, listening to the other Guardian as he rolled over and began mumbling what Yamamoto could only figure to be profanities in various different languages. Once he caught his breath, he used his clean hand to reach over the edge of his bed, lifting the box of tissues he hid under it, and began cleaning himself off, flicking the tissues into the bin beside his bed when he was finished. After deeming his bedspread dry and clean, and returning the tissue box to its hiding place, he gave a small smile to himself and curled up underneath his blankets, letting himself drift off to sleep.

---

When Gokudera awoke the next morning, it was to the sound of children playing loudly outside, and an uncomfortably sticky feeling between his legs. After a quick look around the room to ensure he was alone, he gave a groan in annoyance and sat up.

This was embarassing. Just fucking _embarassing_. This was why he had been reluctant in staying with Yamamoto. Those stupid dreams were so fucking embarassing. It was bad enough he had had one at all. Nevermind the fact that he had had it in the same room as the very person he was dreaming about, and, if it had been like any of his previous experiences with these dreams, he hadn't been quiet about it.

With an angry sigh, he pulled himself up off the futon, digging out a clean pair of boxers to change into. He had barely pulled the clean ones on, and was halfway through pulling off his sleeping shirt when the door of the bedroom opened. He turned his head, reading to growl and swear at the perpetrator for walking in without knocking but stopped when he was met with a face that wasn't his classmates.

"Ya-Yamamoto-san," He stared for a moment before realizing how he must've looked and pulled his top back down.

"Morning, Gokudera-kun," Tsuyoshi said with a grin which seemed brighter and wider than his son's. "Sleep well?" The bomber nodded, having developed an odd sort of respect for the man who had helped the Rain Guardian become who he was today. "Just came to check up on you. I'm going out to do some last minute gift shopping. Takeshi is out in the kitchen making you guys some breakfast. Restauraunt's closed until after New Year's now, so it'll be just you and Takeshi home for most of today. There's a towel for you in the bathroom if you want a shower." After his son's friend nodded again, the man smiled and turned to head back out before stopping and grinning over his shoulder. "Oh, and don't worry about the bedspread. Just fold it up and put it in the bathroom and I'll wash it for you when I get back."

Having successfully made the Italian boy flush a deep red, Tsuyoshi gave a hearty chuckle and a farewell before leaving, pulling the door shut behind him.

_Shit. Shit shit shit. As if it wasn't fucking embarassing enough._ Gokudera pulled his night shirt off over his head and screwed it up into a ball, shoving it into his bag after pulling out a change of clothes for the day. Figuring he may as well take his friend's father up on the offer, he began to fold the bedspread up, not worrying about putting his clean top on just yet. He soon wished he had, though, as the bedroom door opened yet again, this time leaving the doorway filled with a half-dressed - wearing just a pair of trackpants over his boxers, which could be seen poking out over the top - Yamamoto holding a plate of pancakes in each hand.

Gokudera stared. He stared and stared and stared. And continued to do so, as the three reasons he was staring didn't seem to change. Firstly, why pancakes? The boy had a part-time job in one of the most successful Japanese restauraunts on the main island, with access to all the best supplies, and he chose to make _pancakes_. Secondly, why was he not wearing a shirt? Wasn't it unethical or unhygienic or un-fucking-something to not be properly clothed while cooking in a kitchen, especially one that was part of a restaurant? Thirdly, - and this was the one that got him - why in the world was the idiot just standing there, _staring_; staring right back at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

Gokudera was amazed at how long the both of them managed to just stare at each other in silence for so long and they probably would have done so for much longer, had a child outside not thrown a snowball at the bedroom window.

"Hungry?" Yamamoto offered with a plate of pancakes as the bomber hurried to pull on a shirt turning his back to the dark-haired boy to hide the flush that had returned to his face.

"I was just going for a shower," Gokudera growled, giving a light yelp as the baseball player laughed and pushed him down onto the futon, shoving the plate into his hands, along with a knife and fork. He protested loudly and attempted to get back up, only to be pushed back down. "I'll eat them afterwards, idiot."

"But the shower's not going anywhere."

"Neither are the pancakes."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Gokudera glared at his classmate who was sitting on his own bed, his mouth filled by the pancake he had just shoved in there, and growled lightly as he gave up, picking up one of the pancakes and ripping it. Reluctantly, he took it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing, giving a small smile before recovering it with a scowl. It didn't taste half bad.

"So who were you dreaming about last night, Gokudera?"

The question almost made the bomber choke on his mouthful and drop his plate. When he managed to swallow the obstructing food item in his throat he half stared, half glared at Yamamoto, who had already finished eating, his plate sitting on the windowsill.

"Wh-what the fuck sort of shit are you spouting now, idiot?" He growled, trying to force the furious flush one his face down to a low enough level so he could say it was from his anger and not his embarassment. He placed his plate on the floor by his futon, least the idiot ask another stupid, unprovoked question. He was glad he did, because it wasn't an unprovoked question that followed.

It was an unprovoked _action._

Yamamoto had invited himself onto the futon beside his friend and had draped his arm over the Italian's shoulders, holding them both far too close to each other for Gokudera's liking, though when he struggled and tried to free himself, the taller boy just laughed and held him tighter. "You're such a funny guy, Gokudera," He said with a laugh. "Why won't you tell me?"

"You really want to know," Gokudera growled, stopping in his struggling and easing himself out of Yamamoto's grip. "How about I just _show_ you?" He barely gave the other boy time to register what had been said before he lunged forward, claiming the other Guardian's virgin lips - and everything else virgin about him - for his own, greedy self.


End file.
